The Light
by LeaStar
Summary: The Light was terrible. People believed it made them find their true love, their soulmate. Sherlock Holmes would never shine, not for anyone. This was his vow to himself and he would never break it.
1. Chapter 1

He hated the Light.

He saw two people meet, talking and laughing with each other, and after a few months their chests glowed with happiness and content. The lights coming from their chests slowly reaching out to touch the others and then shone brightly as they kissed.

He despised it.

Sherlock saw it happen far too many times for his liking. The couples were all so giddy and giggly, it was terrible. At school it had been awful. There had been gossip about who had signs of the Light and who had never glowed.

People described it as a burning heat inside their chests, so hot they couldn't breathe, but they also said it was comforting. How could it be comforting, knowing this person was your destiny that you would end up with them for the rest of your life?

No, he would never glow, the Light would never shine for him, he was sure. He would leave it that way, he didn't need anyone. Why should he let himself be attached to someone? Ridiculous. He would never shine.

* * *

"Catherine-"

"No, John, I've had enough! You've already cancelled this date twice; I even came to your flat, for God's sake! And still you did it!"

"Please, just listen-"

"Goodbye John, I hope you have fun with your _boyfriend_."

John heard the door slam shut and sat down. There went another potential girlfriend. At this rate he would never find anyone and it was all Sherlock's fault.

The doctor whipped his head around and looked at Sherlock standing near the kitchen looking awfully smug. He would take care of this.

"Why, Sherlock? You knew I had a date!"

The detective shrugged and went to the sofa. He spread himself over the entire length of the piece of furniture and finally glanced at John.

"We had a case and she was boring."

John laughed without any drop of humour. This was just typical.

"_You_ had a case, I had a date which would have gone well-,"

Sherlock grimaced.

"Don't start, it would have gone perfectly fine, but of course you had to call and ruin it!" Why was his flatmate so keen on sabotaging his dates? He hadn't had sex in weeks, dammit! A man has needs.

Sherlock sat up and raised an eyebrow.

"But isn't it interesting that you didn't deny her to be boring?"

John was stunned and wanted to disclaim his friend's argument, but quickly shut his mouth. It was kind of true. Ok, maybe he was kind of hoping he would have sex with her and _maybe_ he was going to leave her then. Maybe. Alright, probably.

He sighed and ran a hand through his short hair. Why was Sherlock always right?

"Fine, you have a point, but that doesn't matter. It was still a bloody date and you ruined it. Again."

The genius smirked and put his hands together. Twat.

"I didn't call you, I sent you a text. You had the choice to come follow me and solve an exciting case or stay with your boring lady friend and have unsatisfying sex with her. It wasn't my fault, it was entirely yours. You made a decision," he leaned back after he had made yet another point.

He would wipe the grin off his face.

But yet again he was right and this annoyed John to no end.

"Why is everything always my fault?!"

"Maybe you should stop trying to look for a girlfriend. I really don't see the point in them. They do what, feed you and have sex with you? Two things you can do by yourself," Sherlock reasoned.

"You don't understand," John told him and stood up. Tea would make everything better.

"And maybe I don't want to understand."

The blond put the kettle on and grabbed a cup. He turned his attention towards Sherlock again and raised his eyebrows.

"So, you never felt…attracted to anyone? Never felt a spark? Saw a faint light coming from your chest?"

Sherlock snorted and looked offended.

"Don't be ridiculous, everyone is an idiot. I saw all these poor souls full with hormones glowing like fireflies in the dark. That hardly meant anything at all."

The kettle whistled and John finished his cuppa. He went back to the living room and took place in his armchair.

"Still, when there is a light in your chest it's…amazing. You feel warm all over and…I can't describe it. Of course the light is only strong when you really love someone. I hope I'll experience that some day."

"Don't be all sentimental, John. It doesn't suit you. You should be happy you don't depend on anyone. You're free."

"Not everyone wants to feel that way," John explained and took a sip from his tea.

"Then they are idiots."

"So I'm an idiot?"

Sherlock frowned and stared at John.

"No, you're not."

John was so surprised by his answer he nearly spilled his precious tea.

"Wow, was that a compliment from the great Sherlock Holmes?" he replied with a hint of sarcasm. He regretted his reply as he saw Sherlock quickly look away and stand up.

"Well John, maybe you are an idiot after all," he murmured and went to his room.

The doctor was left alone in the living room and finished his cuppa quietly, wondering what Sherlock could've possibly meant.

* * *

"What are you doing?" John yawned as he walked down the stairs. The consulting detective was dressed in his blue dressing gown and was pacing around the flat, searching for something.

"If you are looking for the cigarettes, I took care of them long ago, so don't even try to find them."

Sherlock faced the older man and huffed.

"To your surprise I'm not even searching for them. Did you see the glass of jam I put on the table yesterday? I was sure I left it-, John, don't tell me you…"

John looked at him wide-eyed and glanced at the dirty plate next to the tab. Oh God no.

"Why did you even put it there?! And yes, Sherlock, I ate the rest of it. How was I supposed to know it was another one of your experiments? You didn't mark it!"

"Yes I did. I wrote it on the bottom of the glass."

"Why? Did you really think I would check the bottom? Who in their right mind would-, you know what? Forget it, just tell me I won't die."

The dark haired man blinked at him confused and annoyed.

"You would've already died by now if it was poisonous. It was harmless, I was in the beginning phase. A shame I can't finish it now," the detective looked crushed and sat down.

Yes, what a shame. John can't remember the exact number of near death experiences he had had at 221B, but they were definitely nearing fifteen. Maybe even more. Those damn experiments.

The blond rubbed his eyes and thought about his life choices. Well, if he ever had kids he sure would have a lot of stories to tell. The emphasis on if. He was losing hope.

"I'm bored," he heard Sherlock whisper. The detective was reaching for his violin just as his phone beeped. He looked at the message and John quickly looked over his shoulder. So what, he was curious.

**From: Mycroft Holmes**

**Why are you ignoring my texts?**

Sherlock glanced at John and glared.

"Privacy? Ever heard of it?"

"Funny that you say that, I always ask you the same thing," John replied and looked innocently at the sky. Beautiful weather. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his flatmate type a response. That was new.

"Yes, John, I'm replying, could you please stop watching over me like a concerned mother?" Sherlock stood up and walked towards his room, his dressing gown flying behind him.

"What are you doing?" John called.

"Should I explain to you the process of changing clothes? I'm going to purchase something at the supermarket."

"What? You? Who are you and what did you do to my friend?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and came out of his bedroom again, dressed in his black trousers and blue button-down shirt.

"Are you going to buy milk?" John asked full of hope.

"Most likely," he answered and proceeded to put on his coat. Wasn't it a little warm for that? Had John ever seen him dressed in anything else? Did he even own a jacket? He would need to find out.

While he was thinking, Sherlock ran down the stairs in his usual hurry. Hm, Sherlock was going to do the shopping. That was a bit peculiar. Now that he thought about it more, he saw the detective's wallet lying next to the skull.

Lying bastard.


	2. Chapter 2

Following Sherlock proved to be very difficult. John had trouble keeping up with him and did his best not to be noticed. The detective went paths John didn't know and he nearly lost him a couple of times, but finally they arrived at an old warehouse. What a cliché.

Sherlock opened the rusty old door and went inside. John kept a large distance, only following until he was one hundred percent sure his friend wouldn't notice.

The warehouse had seen better times, but what had he expected? The doctor hid behind a wall, glancing at Sherlock who appeared to be waiting, but for whom? What was he even doing here?

John heard another door opening and saw a man walk towards Sherlock. He wasn't very tall, brown hair, normal built, nothing special about him. That was until John saw him carrying a small black bag and he took in a sharp breath. What was going on?

"Well, here's the stuff. Ain't easy to find these days, you owe me," the man handed Sherlock the bag. John couldn't see from his position very well, but the detective seemed to be handing him something. Money? What the fuck was going on?

"There. How long will it last?" Sherlock's voice resonated inside the hall.

"I'd give it two or three months. Not sure though, well, you'll notice," the other person said and shrugged. John quickly hid entirely behind the wall, for a second he thought the man had seen him. He didn't dare to breath.

"I must say, I was a bit surprised that you still wanted it. Nothing changed, huh?"

"Shut up. I gave you the money, I don't need any comments."

"Just sayin'. I'll be off then."

John heard footsteps and a door opening and shutting. The other man had left. The doctor dared to look again. Sherlock was still standing there. What had just happened? What the hell? Did Sherlock buy…drugs? John shook his head. He couldn't…or could he? Why would he?

He quickly changed his position as Sherlock walked towards his direction and left the warehouse. This was so fucked up. John clenched his fists. He was angry, more than angry. He was furious. Why would he take drugs again? And what had that man said? Still wanted it? How long had he been buying this stuff from him?

John tried to calm himself. Sherlock would probably return to 221B now. He took out his phone.

**I went out to meet up with some mates. Don't blow up anything.**

That seemed like a good message. Nothing weird or suspicious.

The door squeaked as he went outside. He was angry, but also at himself. Why hadn't he noticed? He was a doctor for God's sake. John sighed and went down the street. Fuck.

The sky was blue. John would've preferred rain; he was so not in the mood for sunshine. What kind of drugs? Cocaine? God, Sherlock had relapsed. He was supposed to look out for him, a silent agreement between him and Lestrade, or even Mycroft. And he had failed.

He soon found himself near St. Bart's. Sherlock hadn't appeared to be any different. Still an arrogant arsehole. No blown pupils or other symptoms.

People walked past him as he stared at the building. A couple caught his attention. They were laughing at some joke, a light slowly beginning to shine from their chests.

John could still remember the first time it had happened to him, but time went by and he still looked for that one person. He wasn't sure if he would find her anymore.

"John?" he saw Molly coming towards him, a slight smile on her face. He didn't want to talk to anyone now, but he couldn't just leave.

"Hi Molly," the doctor greeted her and forced a smile on his face. She looked a bit confused; she must've noticed something was wrong. And something was. Very much so.

"Everything alright, John? Where's Sherlock, did something happen?" Of course she would ask about Sherlock. Oh how he hoped she would get over him. She deserved someone who loved her as much as she did.

"No, it's fine. He's just being his usual self. A complete dick," she laughed and looked at her watch.

"Well, I have to go now, got a date," Molly blushed slightly.

"That's great! I hope everything goes well," John said genuinely.

"Yes, I don't really have luck with men," she pushed a strain behind her ear and waved him goodbye. John looked after her and thought about Moriarty. God, she was very unlucky. Kind of like he was, but it wasn't entirely his fault.

He sighed anew and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The blond hoped Sherlock didn't notice he had followed him. That would be unfortunate. The wind was getting colder and John went on his way.

Why was everything always so hard? Why wasn't his life easy? Or normal like most people's? John saw the sun slowly going down. The walk to Baker Street would take about an hour. He shrugged and went on. If he was honest, he didn't want a normal life. He preferred this, the adrenaline rushes, the danger.

It was dark when he arrived. The lights were on and he thought he heard Sherlock's violin. He grew angry again. How could he betray him like this? He took a deep breath and opened the door. The sound was clearer now and John went up the stairs and slowly opened the door to their flat.

"Don't worry, I didn't feel like experimenting," was Sherlock's first comment. John shrugged off his coat and went to the kitchen. He opened the fridge.

"Where's the milk?" he asked and closed it. The music stopped.

"I forgot it," he heard his friend say. John sighed and looked at Sherlock.

"You forgot your wallet, too."

The taller man put the violin away and sat down.

"Where were you?" John demanded and raised his eyebrows.

Sherlock glanced at him and put his feet up.

"I told you, I went out to buy something," he answered with a cool touch to his voice.

"And what did you buy?"

The detective looked at him angrily.

"Why should I tell you? It's none of your business," he said with more force.

John clenched his fists and glared at him. He had enough, why couldn't Sherlock just say it?

"It is kind of my business when you lie to me. So, Sherlock, what did you buy?"

"I don't want to discuss this with you," he snarled and stood up. John took him by the arm before he could go.

"For God's sake, Sherlock, just tell me!"

Sherlock flinched and pulled away. "Fuck off, John," he said and went to his room, shutting the door behind him.

John was stunned and sat down. Sherlock had never talked to him like that before; of course he called him an idiot, but…

Maybe he should've handled that differently. Now his friend really wouldn't say a word. Great job, John. You royally fucked it up.

He ran a hand through his hair and wondered about Sherlock's reaction. Would he pretend nothing had happened? Or would he completely shut him out?

Maybe he should tell Lestrade. Of course he would be angry at John for letting Sherlock relapse, but he could help. The DI had helped Sherlock in this kind of situation before.

John felt a knot in his stomach. This was horrible and partly his fault. He could've averted this. He should have.

Fuck.


End file.
